


A Tale of Two Sides (<-Only a working title)

by Maeoreth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3955039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeoreth/pseuds/Maeoreth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sith Inquistor is never given a past. All we're told is 'born slave, became Sith'. What -really- happened before your character stepped off the shuttle to the Sith Academy?</p>
<p>This starts at the beginning of the Sith Inquistor storyline, then bounces around. My timeline doesn't view each story as happening concurrently, but successional-ly. I'll do my best to keep each chapter a different part of the story, so that there's no bouncing around mid-chapter. Also, as I introduce characters, I'll post brief descriptions of them, and then expound upon those descriptions as it's necessary for the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tale of Two Sides (<-Only a working title)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Every piece of dialogue in this chapter is owned by LucasArts. The descriptions between, except of planet-quests, are mine, and the character is kind-of-but-not-really-mine.
> 
> Sith Inquistor: Female, Human, Dark Side, dark blue eyes (sharp, unblinking, sunken in), black hair (short, matted), upright, slight, frail, pasty, prominent, sharp, angular, scarred, light footed, claw-like fingers (thin but precise, well-worked and rough). ENTJ.  
> (For a definition of an ENTJ: http://www.16personalities.com/personality-types )

The air was thick. Hot. Like having an oven pressed against your face. The ground was red, the metal floors a hideous contrast. The whole world seemed both oppressively evil and yet dead and distant all that the same time; like an eternal funeral for a horrid dictator.The ship she’d arrived on was quiet, no one had spoken to her the entire trip there. And it wasn’t a good kind of silence, like she was tired or respected and everyone gave her space. It was a terrified silence, no one would even acknowledge her presence unless they had to. Not that it wasn’t something she’d tried to get used to over the last several years, but it was still strange. Perhaps it was the way in which they’d gone about it. For her, in her early years, it was respect and fear that cause people to never look her in the eye. More recently, it’d been more demeaning, more like being flat out ignored. This was pure terror.

Before her laid a metal ramp that led to a small walkway, and then up a few stairs to the exterior of a building where some people stood around in a circle. She’d been told only a moment ago to try to catch them before they disappeared inside; among them was her trainer and they were already late. She was tempted, for a moment longer than she ought to have been, to put on the full airs of her inheritance; to be the most her she’d been in what felt like lifetimes. A voice she’d dubbed The Slave long ago chided her for her arrogance; she hasn’t been that woman in years and she certainly wouldn’t be now.

Her feet had carried her down the ramp and across the walkway before she’d truly realized what’d happened. Her steps were silent up the few stairs, the force field’s hum of reactivation the only audible way of perceiving her presence. A few glance back, and upon seeing her scarred face they step aside. When she takes stock of her position, she realizes not only is she the last to arrive, she’s also standing in the direct center of the circle everyone else had formed.

“Ah,” said the man standing before her as she glanced over his shoulder to watch someone who’d walked past him go inside, “I hope you don’t think you’re special,” his voice hisses out, “It would be a shame if freedom went to your head. Or if you somehow got the idea you didn’t need to pass your trials to become Sith.” With a final glare in her direction, he raises his voice to address the motley crew of acolytes, “Lord Zash has tasked me with sorting through you refuse to find one worthy of being her apprentice. And I intend to do just that.” 

“Who is this ‘Zash’?” It takes her a second to realize that’s her voice that’s asking such an insolent question.

“That’s Lord Zash to you, slave. She’s a Dark Lord of the Sith and more important than you’ll ever be. Now the rest of you gutter trash, you know your trials. Get going while I bring our late comer up to speed.” The others start to go, making a point of walking around the back of her so as to not cross the man who likes red all too much. One woman, with deep freckles and a short, red haircut stops to address her before leaving as well.

“Watch your back, friend. And don’t worry, it’ll be alright. He can’t kill us all.” You will die before this over.

“A Sith fears no one.” Was her stoic response, knowing that this will be a contest to the death, one that she intends to win.

“Suit yourself.” The woman responded with a slight air of disappointment before stalking off as well.

“Now, slave,” the man addressed her again, using a title she is all too familiar with, “there’s a hermit named Spindral who lives in the tomb of Ajunta Pall in the Valley of the Dark Lords. Spindral’s a lunatic, but Lord Zash sees him as some kind of prophet. Once you find him, he will test you.

“I will do my best.” She replied, trying to not get put down for sheer insolence.

“But there--you know your task. Spindral lives in the tomb of Ajunta Pall in the Valley of the Dark Lords. Don’t keep Spindral waiting, slave.”

Her feet seemed to slip and slide around on the dust-covered, dead, red soil. She could imagine the dirt turning it’s current shade from the thousands of Sith who’d lived and died on this planet for so many centuries. She could almost feel their bones brushing against her ankles, though they’d decomposed eons ago. She’d been stopped on her way to see Spindral by an Imperial Captain wanting some big bugs killed for him, which she’d done so gladly. It gave her a chance to feel the blade sing in her hands again; to feel it cutting through flesh made the experience almost surreal. It’d been so long since she’d held a weapon…

Her mind brought her back to the present, carefully sliding through the halls of Ajunta Pall’s tomb, not wanting to meet one of her competitors or get in trouble with the tomb looters. Unless it was that red-haired woman; she’d happily take out some of the weaker aspects of her possible impending death. The darkness seemed to wrap itself around her, and she embraced it, using it to mask herself until she found Spindral’s home.

“Slave,” he addressed her, and she couldn’t bring herself to be upset at him for it, “Welcome to my humble hole.” He stood from his meditative position away from her before turning to her. “You are here for your trials, yes? Learn the ways of the Sith from a doddering old man in a tomb, and hopefully to return to your master with the mark of my approval.

“Yes, my lord,” she replied, not meeting his eyes, “that is right.”

“Of course it is. I know the way of things on the surface. But before I answer either way--you must pass a trial of blood. Survive, and I will teach you what I know.” He turned away from her again, kneeling back into his meditative position as he was before. She went back down the stairs to see four men, who hadn’t been there a moment ago, at the base practicing on armored mannequins their Force powers and blade techniques. They each turned to her as she neared the base, each with a grin stitched into the flesh of their faces. When she returned to Spindral, he stood and congratulated her on her performance.

“Excellent. These former acolytes wanted nothing more than to earn their second chance for glory by killing you and taking your place. But your desire proved stronger, and their blood became the mantle of your victory.” As she knew it would, “Well done--but you are not Sith yet. Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength,power. Through power, victory. Through victory my chains are broken. This is the Sith Code. Commit it to your heart and you will have the strength to crush your enemies. Do you understand?”

“Yes… I think I do,” she hated that her voice gave way to her own timidity from so many years of slavery, “I must use my emotions to grow stronger.” Her voice rose a little to be more impassioned, more sure of herself, even if she didn’t necessarily feel it.

“Do not be timid,” he immediately chided, “Humility is the attitude of a slave, not a Sith. Now go. Return to Harkun and nurture your hatred for him,and you use your fear of him to grow stronger,” his voice suddenly turned softer, “He may raise his hand to strike, but it is Lord Zash who determines where the blow will land.” Her mind immediately leapt at the concept, devouring it and churning out another.

“But who controls Zash, I wonder?”

“When you know the answer to that, you will have power over both your masters.” There was a hint of approval in his voice that was unmistakable before he turned his back to her once more, “Now go! Leave me to my rest.”

Her feet deftly flitted back along the dark corridor. She could sense the power coming from somewhere deeper inside the tomb, and she used it is a guide to get back out. When she stood back out on the hot sand, she switched into some of the new gear she'd earned. 

She raked a tanned hand back through her rough, greasy hair to push it behind her head. It felt as though she'd never showered before, old mud caked onto her skin. Grime seemed to have made itself at home on various parts of her body. Her hand reached up to scratch at her jaw, the old scars itching again as they always did. Her blackened hair fell in her face again and she elected to ignore it this time. 

Her eyes scanned the dust covered valley, watching acolytes train and prove themselves as their masters and overseers watched closer to the academy. With With a soft sigh, she stowed her old gear in a bag and made her way back to Harkun. 

As she meandered back inside, she was stopped by a young man who identified himself as Assistant Overseer Markan, and through his condescension, he instructed her to her martial arts trainer. Lord Zash had apparently made it a rule that all acolytes needed to see one. Directed to the upper level library, she met with Lord Samus briefly before returning downstairs to see Harkun. She tried to cover her late entrance, but again everyone moved so she could be center. The person she'd noticed before now stood among their group, looking cocky and arrogant. 

"Ah, the last one," Harkun hissed, "always the late comer. Now we can see what the hermit thinks of you slime." She felt her back standing up a little straighter, knowing she did well and proud of it. "Acolyte Kory,step forward, please." The freckled red haired woman from before stepped up. As Kory answered his call, she felt a small sense of satisfaction at listening to Harkun rip her to shreds. Watching him electrocute the worm meant her place in the Sith was that much more secure.

“Meet our newcomer, Ffon Althe. This is real Sith strength, and he will tear you apart and crush your bones, slaves.” Everyone turned to look at the Sith pureblood standing off to the right, already in apprentice robes instead of the slave garb the rest of them were in. His red eyes spoke of his cockiness. “Look on him! No connections left in the world, but pure Sith blood! This-this is Lord Zash’s future apprentice! Not filth like you!”

“Congratulations on your new pet,” the slave-turned acolyte chimed in, her deep alto laced with sarcasm, “Now give us the rest of the trial.”

“Step this way, acolyte, I want to speak to you privately. The rest of you--get out of here, you know your trials. You too, Ffon, Spindrall awaits.” Harkun waited for the others to leave before lowering his voice to it’s usual hiss, “Now, listen to me. Spindrall is a lunatic. His approval means nothing. You are filth, and you will die. Is that clear?”

“You think you scare me?”

“You are nothing, and do not forget it.” She used to be everything. Not that he’d know, “Now, your second trial. Lord Zash has requested a special trial for you, which you will no doubt fail. Go to Inquistor Zyn in the jails, he will fill you in on the details--and most likely, hasten your demise.” It was all she could do not to laugh.

“Don’t count on my demise, Harkun. I don’t die easy.”

“Don’t boast, slave. I don’t want to see you again until you’re back from the jails. That’s all.”  
Turning, the acolyte left Harkun’s relatively small office to venture out into the rest of the Sith Academy. She’d heard descriptions of it’s grandeur in the old days, but the descriptions made it sound more glorious and less… creepy. The vaulted ceilings gave a feeling of looming doom everywhere, and it made her suspicious of every shadow. A few of the Lords stopped her with small tasks they wished aid with, which the acolyte was quick to help complete for them. It earned her a few new pieces of better armor, ones which she quickly changed into once she found a vacated room. Her black, dirt-ridden hair clung to her face as she made her way to the jails. As she wandered, she overheard one of the Dark Lord’s murmuring to each other that they hadn’t seen one so small and quiet come through the halls of the Academy in some years.

“Acolyte!” Inquistor Zyn purred at her approach, “You’ve arrived and not a moment too soon,” his voice was too pleasant. She couldn’t trust it. “Harkun has given me very specific instructions. You were raised as a slave but must discard those traits and learn to control others.” She swallowed her scoff. She’d show him. “And I have just the task for that end. Meet this snivelling excuse for an acolyte. He will be your victim.” Her suspicions were already aroused, between the Inqusitor working with a man diligently engrossed in her demise.

“What exactly does this entail?”

“A short while ago, there was what we call an ‘unauthorized murder’ here in the Academy. A rivalry among apprentices resulted in death. Interrogate him. Make him tell you who committed the crime, at any cost.” A smirk dared to ghost itself across her features.

“Cover your ears. This may get a little loud.”

“Thank you for the warning, but I prefer to cherish every scream.” The acolyte made her way towards the chained up young man, her gait awkward though her face bore no pain. The already bloodied apprentice grunted in response to her approach.

“Nnnnngg… please, don’t hurt me. I don’t know anything.”

“It’s alright, Alif. I just want to talk,” her alto cooed, trying to get him to trust her.

“Yeah, right. I know what you want. I’ll tell you right now, I don’t know anything.” Her small smile turned into a large, toothy grin.

“Then I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.” Lightning streaked out of her hand and into his body, he rattled and wracked as his screams pilfered the air. When she stopped, he held still for a second, verging on breathless.

“Please, don’t do that again. I’ll do anything.”

“Tell me who murdered the apprentice,” she hissed in her best Harkun impression.

“I can’t do that, I can’t… he’ll kill me if I tell, or worse…”  
“Who will kill you?”

“No, I’ve already said too much, please, just leave me alone.” His voice had turned to begging, and an indescribable sensation of rage and disgust filled her body.

“Tell me what you know!” She screamed at him, both hands now pointed out at him as she electrocuted him long enough he nearly passed out. She seethed with hatred, and her whole being was bent on taking it out on his flesh.

“Alright! I’ll talk, he’ll kill me, but I’ll talk…” he wheezed out when she finally subsided, and she could sense Inquistor Zyn’s curiosity at her sudden surge of emotion. “The murderer is an apprentice by the name of Esorr Kayin. You have to protect me or he’ll kill me.” She, again, had to swallow a scoff, her rage ebbing away slowly.

“I doubt that. He’ll be too busy being punished for murder.”

“Kayin’s master is a Dark Council member,” she felt the blood almost immediately drain from her face, her stomach churning, “you might as well try fighting the Emperor himself. Kayin won’t get so much as a reprimand, but when Kayin finds out, he’ll come after me.” She couldn’t let them find out. Not yet. Not so soon after she’d been freed. No, no, she has to remain hidden, she cannot be found out. No, this one will suffer in her stead.

“And what exactly does this have to do with me?” She replied in her snarkiest tone, not allowing her emotions to rise again so easily.

“Of course,” he muttered bitterly, “it’s not your problem. Why should you care?” Without another word, she stepped away from Alif and back towards Zyn. She heard him say to himself, “Maybe if I’m lucky, Kayin will put me out quickly.”

“You don’t have to tell me, I heard the name loud and clear, though I sorely wish I hadn’t. Esorr Kayin. Kayin’s master is Dark Council member, I’d be a fool to oppose him.” With a simple, smooth motion, Inquistor Zyn seemed to shrug off the whole matter, “But anyway, your trial here is done. I will send my commendations to Overseer Harkun, you may return to him.”

“Excellent.”

“It has been most pleasant watching you work, acolyte. Truly, I wish you the best of luck in your remaining trials.” Thanking the Inquistor softly, the acolyte turned and left.

Upon returning to the Overseer’s office, the acolyte proceeded to tune out everything that was said, bar the key points. Someone was missing and thereby assumed dead, blah blah blah, Ffon will destroy us all, blah blah blah, Zash is almighty and powerful, none of you deserve her, go to your trials, this acolyte is a latecomer even though she was on time this time, blah blah blah, you and Ffon will have trials of intellect, Ffon go to the second floor of the Academy and translate some old texts for Lord Zash. Finally, the two were alone and the acolyte tuned into the conversation once more.

“Slave,” he hissed again, “deep in the monster-infested tomb of Marka Ragnos is an ancient Sith holocron filled with dark secrets and encased in a great stone monument. No one has figured out how to release the holocron from its stone prison in over a thousand years. You will bring the holocron to me or you will die.” She stretched her shoulders a little, one of her shoulder blades getting stiff from an old injury.

“You know, Harkun, the more you make me hate you, the stronger I become. One of these days, I will be strong enough to crush you.” She iterated to him in her most matter-of-fact tone that she could muster.

“You will never be strong enough, slave. You will bring back the holocron, or you will pray that the spirit of Marka Ragnos returns to end your miserable existence once and for all. Now go.”

On her way to the tomb, she was stopped by a Sith Lord looking for traitorous acolytes, and then again by one looking for his Tukata brain. The earlier task was easy, but she found herself momentarily conflicted over whether to turn the Lord’s apprentice in to him, as she wanted to prove her master a fraud. In the end, she followed her instinct, and the Sith’s apprentice would likely spend the rest of her life resenting the acolyte. 

Upon entering the small but vaulted chamber, the first thing she noticed were the shyracks, which were quickly eliminated. Once she was alone, she observed the large pyramid closely, climbing the ramp to the platform at the top. At the peak of the pyramid was the holocron and it’s stone shell. It glowed with it’s own dark power. There were marks all over it from unsuccessful attempts at opening to pry open the casing. Her first attempt was mediating on the dark side, as she recalled from her history lessons many years ago that Marka Ragnos was incredibly attuned to the dark side. After defeating a small horde of beasts, she tried again. This time, a sacrifice of her own blood, and again, nothing. In aggravation, stress, and exasperation, she felt an overflow of emotion channel into her hands once more.

“Just open, damnit!”  
The stone casing popped open without question as the lightning danced across the rock as though it’d always wanted to open. She snatched the holocron from it’s place without a thought, fearing it might snap shut as fast as it’d opened. Staring at the small cube, incredulous, she made her way back outside to Harkun.

“You better not be wasting my time, slave. You better have the holocron.” Without a word, she handed over the elusive cube. He examined it, barely. “Hm. A fake, or stolen from the library, probably.” She rolled her eyes, “I’ll deal with you later. Now,” his voice picked up with almost excitement, “it’s time for another demonstration. Gerr, step forward.”

“Yes, overseer.” The large man stepped up without question.

“Ffon, kill him.

“With pleasure, overseer!” In seconds, the very large man had been electrocuted and stabbed by the pureblood Sith.

“Let Gerr be an example to you. Ffon destroyed him easily, as he will destroy all of you. Are there any other objections?”

“You are only giving us power, Harkun,” her voice hissed out, her tone menacing.

“Just as your comments are only hastening your demise, slave. Now the rest of you, know the next trial, go. Except you, slave, stay here.” For a brief, almost panicked second, she wondered if he knew. But he couldn’t know. There was no way. If he knew, she’d already be dead. “Now, slave, you think yourself pretty clever getting that holocron, don’t you?”

“I don’t really think about it one way or another. I did as I was told.” The words came easily because of their sheer truth. She hadn’t really thought about it.

“You are lucky Lord Zash finds you useful,” he nearly growled in response, “Now, for your trial: the last, darkest secrets of Tulak Hord are buried in his tomb. Lord Zash wants this text. But the final resting place of the dead lord is not easily trespassed, you will not be the first to die there.”

“I will return with the text.”

“Do not come back here until you’ve gotten the text from Tulak Hord’s tomb. Out of my sight, slave!” Already agitated, his voice rose to a roar at the end, and she quickly slid out of his chambers.

This time on her way out, she was stopped by two Sith Lords again. The one requested she aid in tricking a Jedi into revealing where a secret Jedi enclave is by getting him to trust her, getting his things for him, and then releasing him with a tracker on his person. The task was more difficult than she’d realized it would be, as his things were buried in an area that was being ransacked by a slave rebellion. Upon completion, the other Sith asked her to scan the other Lords to check for purity of blood. She was almost uncomfortable with this task, but saw it to completion anyway. It wasn’t difficult, just a little unnerving. 

She returned to the slave rebellion, intentionally not looking anyone in the eye for fear of recognizing someone, or worse, being recognized. Her ability to not be perceived unless she wished it aided her greatly here, as even though it was broad daylight, she wasn’t spotted even once.

With all three texts in hand, she summoned a shuttle for pick up and quickly found herself back in the great halls of the Academy. As she made her way towards Harkun’s office, she was stopped by a blonde Sith Lord who was mumbling about something being utterly remarkable before noticing her presence.

“You-”she stopped and turned to the blonde, “you, slave,” it was all she could do to not growl, “Wai-no, acolyte,” she found herself much more appeased at the correction, “you’re the one who brought me this magnificent holocron from the tomb of Marka Ragnos, yes?”

“Yes, my lord, I found the holocron.

“Unbelievable. One thousand years, buried in that tomb, Sith Lords passing it by, and then the most unlikely person comes along.” She couldn’t help a little, almost-sheepish grin. “Tell me, how did you manage it?”

“That’s my little secret.” She knew better than to tell, she knew that a Sith would respect her more for not telling.

“Good. You guard your secrets well. This is a credit to you and a source of power. Though I personally prefer to be more open.” She felt a small sense of disregard well up in her, as she knew that being more open would be a weakness for this Sith Lord. The feeling was immediately squelched. “Your work so far--in bringing back this holocron and now this text from Tulak Hord--has me intrigued. I am watching your progress eagerly. I have high hopes for you, acolyte, sky high.” She bowed her head slightly to the older woman as a sign of respect.

“I hope I live up to them.”

“Good luck, acolyte,” the Sith cooed in response, “good luck.” She ventured further into the Overseer’s office, the meeting with Zash now out of the way. Ffon stood at the ready by the desk, and she braced herself for another ugly conversation.

“I was just about to send Ffon off, what delayed you, slave?” He asked with a manner of impatience.

“Sorry, it won’t happen again.” She wouldn’t tell him about the meeting; not yet. Not until it would be useful.

“A pity the tomb didn’t kill you. Now, did you collect the texts?”

“Of course, Overseer, it is an honor to serve.” She wanted to at least try to appease him so he wouldn’t outright kill her on the spot.

“Give it here,” he hissed back, “It’s probably been badly damaged, it’s what we get for sending a careless lowlife to do a Sith’s job. Isn’t that right, Ffon?” His last question was cooed out towards the other acolyte, the favor in his voice disgusting.

“What are we waiting for, Overseer? Why don’t we just kill this wretch now?” Ffon responded with impotence, obviously ready to be crowned the victor as he so truly believed he deserved. She glowered at him, readying herself for combat should the need arise.

“You have a big mouth, slave, but no combat skills.” Harkun said before she could butt in, trying to diffuse the obvious tension in the room a little, “I don’t want to see you again until you’ve satisfied the Korriban instructors. The training facility is on the second floor of the Academy and is usually reserved for the Sith Lords and their apprentices. This is not a promotion, and you are not to speak to anyone except the training masters when you are up there, understand? You are not fit for their presence.”

“I understand. I will be careful not to step out of place,” she replied, attempting to be appeasing again. His scathing tone followed her out, bellowing about not returning until she’s seen the instructors.

Upon entering the training facility, she noticed right away that… it was completely empty. Immediately, she put herself on guard, knowing that an ambush was likely eminent. Turning slowly, she noticed Balek and Wydr standing on either side of the door. The two approached slowly, knowing she could be a serious threat if put on the wrong foot.

“Hello there, friend. You remember my brother and me from downstairs with Harkun, right?” The not-quite-so-ugly one said to her.

“Sorry it had to be this way,” the kinder one murmured, and she knew her instinctiveness about these two being unfit to be Sith was true.

“We don’t like it anymore than you do,” the first, Wydr if she’s correct, spoke up as the two crowded nearer to her. “Well, maybe a little more.” She decided maybe a flirty approach would get her out of having to fight two men three times her size.

“Now, now,” she playfully chided, “you don’t really know if I like this or not.”

“I’m sorry, girl,” Balek stuttured, realizing she was being flirtatious and also realizing he had no idea what her name was; he’d never heard it used. She’s always just been slave. “I liked you, I really did.”

“But Harkun made us a deal, see. We kill you, we go home.” Anger rose in the pit of her stomach. Betrayed once more.

“You will regret that,” she seethed.

“We don’t want to,” Balek pleaded, not wanting there to be animosity between them, “But we know we can’t beat Ffon, and we’ll never be Sith,” Isn’t that the truth, “At least this way we can go home--alive.”

“Quiet, Balek,” Wydr butted in, and she recognized Wydr as both the stronger and the leader of the two, “The time for talk is past. Fight for your life, acolyte.”

Balek died first, if only to ensure a weakling such as him would never be Sith. Wydr closely followed, as she would never stand for betrayal again. Approaching Harkun once more, she was very tempted to stab him in the back right there, secrecy and revenge against those who’d wronged her be damned. But he turned around before she could reach for her sword, and she felt a small amount of gratitude towards the Overseer run through her. Not now. Not after all she’s done and all that she will do. He will live to further her goals.

“Well, well,” he murmured, grinning a little, “look who shows up at long last. I half expected to hear you’d crossed some Dark Lord upstairs and finally gotten yourself killed. None of the others have shown up either. I assume they’re dead now, making you and Ffon the last ones.” Having scanned the area upon her arrival, she decided now would be the appropriate time to bring up the other acolyte’s disappearance.

“Speaking of Ffon, he seems conspicuously absent.”

“You only wish it, slave. No--you took so long returning, I sent Ffon ahead. Your final trial will be to retrieve an ancient map from the innermost chamber of Naga Sadow’s tomb--which has never been breached in thousands of years. But before you get the map, you’ll have to waken an ancient assassin called a Dashade that sleeps within the tomb. You cannot access the map without him--understand?

“What exactly is a Dashade?”

“They’re a lost race of assassins that the ancient Sith Lords used to devour their Force-using enemies. This one’ll probably eat you the moment he’s freed. Oh, and one more thing: you’ll be competing with Ffon for this map. Whoever brings it back will be Lord Zash’s apprentice, the other will die. And Ffon’s already gone on ahead, so my advice? Run, slave, run.” His voice revelled in his own pleasure, his eyes alight with fire and hate. For a brief second, she actually considered turning tail and bolting out the door, except she’d already seen a familiar blonde woman approaching, who at that moment, cleared her throat.

“One moment, please,” she voiced before the acolyte could leave.

“L-Lord Zash! What are you doing here?”

“Overseer, are you implying, a Lord of the Sith, don’t have the right to go where I please within the Academy of the Sith?” Zash’s menacing tone made even her stone heart still for a second in terror.

“N-no, of course not, Lord Zash.”

“Good. I saw the last of the acolytes arrive and I wanted to see the hopefuls off on their final trial. Where’s um--oh--what’s his--the red one, Ffon?”

“He finished his trial early, so I sent him on ahead rather than keeping him here waiting for this--”

“Pity,” Zash interrupted Harkun, “I just finished translating the wonderful text this acolyte,” she pointed at her, “brought back from Tulak Hord’s tomb, and it’s most illuminating. I don’t know that the map can be retrieved without it.”

“Uh-oh, Ffon’s in trouble,” she chimed in, grinning a little. 

“It’s too late, Ffon’s already left, you can’t just--”

“--Give one acolyte an unfair advantage over the other? Overseer, since when has being Sith ever been about being fair?” Both women’s grins widened just a little bit more at the Overseer’s flustered expression. Zash turned towards her, growing more serious, “Now, my dear acolyte, here is what you must do in order to free the Dashade. There are rods scattered throughout the tomb of Naga Sadow. These rods are the keys to the chamber where the ancient assassin is imprisoned. You will need to place the rods in the chamber door and electrify them. I don’t know exactly the reason, but it is clear that you will not be able to retrieve the map without the Dashade. But be careful, he is very dangerous.”

“Any other advice, Lord Zash?” She asked in response, hoping to glean a little more. 

“It’s a Force-resistant assassin--I have reason to believe this one was placed in the tomb by Tulak Hord himself,” Zash turned to address Harkun again, “I will return when both acolytes are back from the tomb. You will not do anything further to affect the outcome of this trial. Understood?”

“Yes, Lord Zash,” Harkun relented, abashed.

“Good, and good luck, acolyte.” Without another word, she disappeared around the corner.

She hadn’t expected there to be so many robots. 

Slinking around each corner had proven more difficult than in the other tombs, as the volume of machines present made going undetected nearly impossible. She made quick work of each of them, her hatred of the Sith she’d encountered earlier still coursing through her veins.

She’d been stopped by a Private in the Imperial Navy, asked to go inside and find an acolyte whose father was a Sith Lord and bring him the body. While investigating the corpse, she noticed a tall, dark figure looming in the shadows. Unnerved and prepared for an attack from Ffon, she stepped toward the darkness, only to find a strange looking creature who crowed about needing food. After being directed by the half-starved thing to the beastmaster inside the academy, she took the body with her and laid it at the feet of his father. Even in death, he seemed disappointed in his son. It reminded her of her own past, of the disappointment her father had always borne for her. How even in her strongest moments, she was never strong enough. She recognized later that this was to encourage her to continue striving for greatness, but it was much too late by then. The beastmaster had almost proven himself unworthy of being Sith, his attachment to the beast combined with his fear of it causing him to keep it cast out, instead of being used by the Academy. She, of course, fed it acolyte remains in order to strengthen the creature. 

Having found the rods and defeated more than ten competing acolytes who would see her to an early grave, she made her way towards a chamber in the very back of the tomb. Before her laid the door, and she placed the rods in the altars around the meditation slab. Standing in the center, she focused the dark side inside of her, meditating for a brief moment. Just when she’s almost prepared to strike, the rods strike first. Electric current fills her bones, and it was all she could do to not cry out in agony. One by one, they all initiate a lightning dance on her flesh, and she could smell her hair and clothes singeing.

Collapsing to her knees, she can hear her parents just over her shoulder, chiding her weakness. She can hear her master’s voice from above, his loud bellow rocking her to her core, cursing her for her impotence and failure. Harkun seems to speak from her immediate right, scathing words dripping with venom being flung at her face. Anger courses through her, and gathering what little strength she has left, she channeled all her hatred and frustration into electrocuting the door. She would later recall it as a last-ditch effort, just simply trying to survive, but in the moment it seemed almost a natural response. The doors slid open as though they always had.

Stepping through the vaulted entry, she found herself in the large chasm once more, this now her third time visiting, but this time with the Dashade before her. She slowly wandered closer, her gaze curious upon his yellowish, broad form.

“Ha!” She recognized the language, though from where she couldn’t place, “All the world conspires to mock me, haha!” The large beast crowed loudly, “Tulak Hord!” He obviously wasn’t addressing her anymore, “I waited for you. I did everything you said! And this is what you send me? Ha! Fate is cruel to me, little one. But not as cruel as it is to you. You have made a terrible mistake.”

“Your defiance is foolish and misplaced,” she replied. The only way to win over such a thing would be to assert authority and dominance. Either that, or through battle, and she wasn’t certain what sort of condition he was in… or whether or not she’d win.

“I am Khem Val, servant of Tulak Hord, who was called Hate, Master of the Gathering Darkness, Dark Lord of the Sith. Together, Tulak Hord and I devoured our enemies at the battles of Yn and Chobosh, and brought the entire Dromund system to its knees. And now I await his return.” 

“I hate to be the one to break it to you,” no, she didn’t, “but Tulak Hord is dead.”

“Dead? My lord,” again, obviously not addressing her, “why didn’t you come for me? I would have died with you--no, I would have slain death itself… As for you, you should not have come here.” A sense of foreboding washed over her, and she began reaching for her training sword as he stretched out his arms, “For I hunger--and I will devour you!”

With a loud cry, the monster rendered himself free of the contraption that had suspended him all these years. Falling to the base, he perched there for a second before standing straight and tall. His red eyes glowered at her as he leapt down and then brought himself up to his full height. She swallowed thickly, but showed nothing but defiance on her features. She wouldn’t go down without a fight…

Which was surprisingly shorter than she expected.

“Ha! Defeated! Defeated!” Well, at least he wasn’t angry at her for beating him, “Why did you not come for me, Tulak?” Why do you keep talking to someone who obviously isn’t here?! “Why have you allowed your servant to be reduced to this? Fine, little one. In my great weakness, you have defeated me, so I must serve you--this is the law that binds me. But you are not my master.” A growl rose into her voice.

“I am your master now, get used to it.”

“As you say, little one.” A part of her became even more enraged at his placating tone, but it was immediately soothed by the realization she couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually tried to placate her. “But someday I will regain my strength.”

Khem almost too easily broke through the fallen stone that separated them from the map, and she guessed that’s why the ancient Lords so heavily stressed his needed presence. Until she saw the big monster thing on the other side. Growling deep and low, she sent Khem in at it while maintaining a constant stream of attacks from behind. The thing barely registered her presence, focusing on what she could only assume was it’s old foe. When it laid dead at her feet, she collected the star map and summoned a shuttle to transport she and Khem back to the Academy. As they entered the great halls once more, she heard Khem muttering about how things have changed, and how long had he truly been asleep?

“I’m telling you, Overseer,” she heard Ffon’s voice whining as she neared the entrance to Harkun’s office, “it cannot be done. I went into the tomb, I saw the Deshade across the chasm, but I could not get to it.”

“But the map, the map!” Harkun replied in desparation, “Lord Zash is adamant--she will not take an apprentice without the map!” She shared a glance with Khem-could Harkun have a deeper reason for wanting Ffon to become Sith?

“I’m telling you, Lord Zash wants the impossible. No one is going to get that map!” She felt this would be the most appropriate time to make an entrance.

“No one except me, of course,” her alto murmured, grinning a little as she bore it in her hand.

“The map!” He glanced up, then did a double take, “And--the Deshade! G-Get that thing out of here this instant! And give me the map!”

“No,” Ffon growled out in his wimpy voice, “it’s not possible, you wretch, you filth. You must have cheated. How did you do it? How did you release the monster?!”

“I am not a monster,” Khem chimed in calmly, “I am Khem Val, servant of Tulak Hord, devourer of the rebels at Yn and Chobosh, consumer of the Dromund system. And I am hungry.”

“Right.” Was Ffon’s unsteady reply, “You--you must have cheated, you must have. You’ll pay for this!”

“Ffon, patience,” Harkun soothed, “You will have your chance at this whelp,” he snatched the map away from her, “after you personally deliver this map to Lord Zash.” Harkun handed it over to Ffon, who took it greedily.

“Eat them both, Khem,” was her mild-mannered response.

“With pleasure,” he replied in kind, taking only a step forward before Zash magically appeared.

“Keep your pet at bay for just a moment, acolyte. I would have a word with Ffon.”

“Lord Zash?”

“Yes, Ffon. Now where’s my map?”

“H-Here, Lord Zash. Right here.”

“You found it for me, Ffon? How wonderful.” Disgust. Loathing. Hatred. Malice. Violence.

“You. Are. One. Dead. Man.”

“Silence!” Lord Zash both hissed and shouted in response, and she immediately quieted, rebuked. “Ffon will tell me what happened, won’t you, Ffon?” She’d not heard a voice go from violent to sickeningly, falsely sweet in some time, “You wouldn’t dare lie to me, would you? Because it would be a shame for me to discover that you lied to me. Now one more time--did you bring this map back from Naga Sadow’s tomb?” Ffon had not yet looked so uneasy and almost timid since her introduction to him.

“I-uh-I-n--no. No, I didn’t. I didn’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Zash turned a scathing eye onto the Overseer.

“Harkun, you fool. In any other group for any other lord, this young man would have torn the other acolytes to shreds. What were you trying to prove? That you could outsmart me? That you knew better than me what sort of person I wanted for an apprentice? You fool!” Without another word, Zash filled Ffon’s body with electricity, and in seconds, he laid in smoldering heap of death on the floor. Harkun had tried to reach for the young acolyte, but he knew it was too late. “There’s your pet, Harkun,” Zash spat out, “clean this mess up. Apprentice,” she turned to her, “meet me in my chambers upstairs.”

“As you say,” she replied, submissive. Zash turned and briskly walked out of the room, a wake of anger being left behind in the Force. Harkun turned to her, also brimming with rage.

“This is not the end. Without Lord Zash to save you, you’re nothing. I have connections that will hunt you wherever you go.” She knew an empty threat when she heard one, and she didn’t hold back the eye roll this time.

“Just face it--your star is dead, and you are nothing.” He looked almost ready to cry. Broken. Defeated. As so many of her enemies to come would look at her. She relished his failure.

“Get out of my sight, slave. Your new master is waiting for you upstairs.”

Climbing the familiar stairs, she thought she would feel… different. Nervous, perhaps? Wobbly? Even more confident, something! She’d spent so many years waiting for this, waiting to be put back in a position where she could right the wrongs that had been inflicted upon her, and now she can’t even enjoy it. It frustrated her endlessly, and when Khem attempted to ask, she immediately silenced him. Once in private, she would discuss it, but not here.

“Ah, my magnificent new apprentice,” Zash cooed, “Congratulations are in order, I believe.”

“Thank you for giving me this opportunity,” she replied in earnest. Zash had no way of knowing what this meant to her.

“You’ve earned it, my apprentice. Now, I was just looking over this astonishing map you brought back, and I can tell we’ve a lot of work ahead of us.” Her curiosity got the better of her.

“What is this map of, exactly?”

“Can’t talk about it here,” Zash quickly responded, “Too many unfriendly ears. You must meet me on Dromund Kaas, there we can talk more.” She had to expunge any bubbling laughter in her stomach, as well as purge herself of the memories of that place. She had to pretend she’d never been there before. After all, that’s what the records say.

“Dromund Kaas, got it.”

“I will meet you in my chambers in the Citadel in Kaas City. There we can speak more freely of the work ahead--without the fear of unfriendly ears.” A presence formed in the back of her mind, distant, yet close. Someone was near. “This is the lightsaber I had as an apprentice. I want you to have it,” Zash motioned, and then tossed it gently over the table so she could catch it. It was bigger and lighter than it looked now that she finally got a chance to hold one. She activated it as she’d seen so many do, and then twirled it a little before finally closing it again. Zash nodded approval.

“I am honored.”

“Excellent, I’m glad you like it,” the older woman giggled, “It served me well.” Her tone changed to more serious, “Now, remember. My chambers. The Citadel. Dromund Kaas. It’s imperative that we get to work on this as soon as possible.” Zash made to leave, and she followed obediently, with Khem trailing along behind.


End file.
